It Was Kind of Like
by novae mienai
Summary: Under the night sky, an exchange between two former best friends. Bookworm!Rin/soccer player!Len, oneshot.


Cover art: Mille, pixiv id 14477

Written on a whim at 3 AM when I couldn't sleep.

If you want, listen to "Maybe" by Yiruma while you read. It helps set the mood.

* * *

Under the night sky, an exchange between two former best friends.

* * *

 **It Was Kind of Like**

* * *

I liked reading, but I hated being trapped in the house. My house was nice, sure, but it got unbearably stuffy in the summer, even with the window open, so on nights like this, I'd take my book and a flashlight and a picnic blanket and hike out to the park for an hour or two.

It was nice and cool outside, and I wondered with a bit of bitterness why the fresh night air couldn't just seep through my bedroom walls. I didn't really mind going out, though. I loved the feel of the breeze through the thin flannel of my pajamas—it was chilly, but it made me feel warm inside. No, I didn't have a problem with going out in my pajamas, even though they were covered in little cartoon cows jumping over moons. It was a dark night, after all, and I wasn't the type to care about what I wore. Not that there was anyone out to see what I was wearing. It was about ten-thirty, and this little section of suburb had already retired for the night.

The park wasn't more than a ten-minute walk from my house. It was right across from my old elementary school, so between the soccer field and baseball diamond, there was a collection of well-loved playground equipment: a roofed fort, a long slide, a swing set. I didn't have a favourite spot, but tonight I set up on the ankle-height platform beneath the monkey bars, spreading my blanket over the dusty surface. I settled down, cracked open my book, and was slowly absorbed into the print until the world around me disappeared, and I became numb to even the summer wind I'd come out here for.

"Hey."

I hadn't even reached the main part of the story yet, but even just the setup was so _intense_. I was already in love with all the characters, and I congratulated myself on yet another great find.

"Hey."

I blinked blankly at the page for a few seconds.

No. No, they did not just kill him. It was only chapter eight, they couldn't kill the best character…

"Umm…"

It was a fantasy story, so I hoped that there would be some kind of resurrection later. Potions? Unicorn blood? Magic circles?

"Hey!"

My heart jumped as a clear voice rang through the darkness, tearing me out of my head trip. Shaken, I looked up from my book to see a great big shadow looming over me.

There was someone crouching on top of the monkey bars, balancing on his heels and peering down at me. I couldn't see his face, but I could tell it was a boy, around my age. I suddenly felt very aware of myself, like a mouse who'd just felt an eagle swoop overhead, and I froze. I thought I was alone.

He might've sensed my tension, so he let out a somewhat forced chuckle, and shifted into a sitting position. "Heh, sorry. Just felt like you were ignoring me." It wasn't an accusation—his tone was light. "Is your book that good?"

There might have been a few stutters, but no substantial words could force their way up my throat.

"Sorry if I scared you, I guess." He paused. "Did I scare you?"

I clutched my book, only just realizing that I dropped my flashlight and it'd rolled a few metres away, quite out of reach. "No." I spoke quietly, because it was a quiet night.

"Are you sure?"

"Do I sound scared to you?"

"No," he concurred. "You're awfully quiet, though. Can hardly hear you from up here."

"Then come down." He made a motion, and I changed my mind. "No wait, actually... Stay up there."

"Hey, I'm harmless. I don't have an axe on me, so—"

"Why would you have an axe with you?"

"I don't! Well if I did, it'd be because I'm an axe murderer. But I don't, and I'm not, so you're safe."

Though I was confused, a cautious smile crept onto my face. "Okay, fine."

"Good!" And he jumped, gracefully landing on his feet. He straightened and got my flashlight for me. "Here," he said, shining it just above my head, illuminating me, but not blinding me.

When he got a good look at my face, his eyes widened. "Oh."

It was a soft 'oh', a bit like the one you'd make when someone promised you a really good birthday present, then waking up on the day and finding that they didn't follow through. But what was he oh-ing for? That single syllable somehow confused me more than my longest physics textbook ever did. "What…"

And then he shone the flashlight at his own face, and I realized I recognized him, too. "Oh."

It was Len. I'd known him for a long time, and we were good friends in, what, grade two? Not best friends, but friends. Well, he was my only friend for a while. Still, even if I had only one friend, that wouldn't necessarily make him my _best_ friend, right? Well. Anyway, I made some other friends towards the latter years of elementary, he decided boys were better soccer players than me, and so we hadn't spoken since grade seven.

Well, there was one time in grade nine that went like:

 _Len: Rin, do you have a pencil?_

 _Rin: *gives him pencil*_

 _Len: Thanks._

 _Rin: *nods*_

But since then, nothing.

He handed me the flashlight, then stood back and shoved his hands into the pockets of his windbreaker. He exhaled, shifted his weight, kicked the ground. "So, uh, you come here often?"

It was the ridiculous kind of question I hated answering, but I took it at face value. "I suppose so. Is once a week 'often?'"

"Yeah, I'd say so."

There was a long pause in which no one said anything, and I thought about just opening my book again.

As if sensing my thoughts, he asked quickly, "What're you reading this time?"

 _This time_. Even when we were little, I read so much it became a point of annoyance for him. He often got angry that I'd rather read than play with him, so he stole my books a lot. His parents were really pissed when they found where he'd stowed them all over the years, but I never did get them back.

"It's obscure. You wouldn't know it."

"I won't know it unless you tell me."

I raised a brow. "Since when did you care what I read?"

"Aw, jeez." He smiled slightly, perhaps in nostalgia. "Since today."

I shook my head. "No, I'm going to bore you if I talk about books. If you want to talk, we can talk about something else."

I'm not the type for small talk. I guess it shows how far apart we've grown, because that was something he should have already known.

He gave me a look, then shook his head. "Yeah, whatever." He sat down beside me, and I inched towards the other end of the platform. To make him room, and also because this kid had no sense of personal space.

I played with the flashlight, shining it over the ground, into the distance, into the sky. The sky was speckled with two or three stars, but I hadn't seen the proper night sky in a few years. "Why are you here, anyway?"

He pointed to the road at the edge of the park, where there was a bus shelter. "I was waiting for the bus, but I saw light over here so I came to see what it was."

"And you felt like climbing the monkey bars?"

A snicker. "I was approaching, but you didn't seem to notice, so I went for the more… _clandestine_ route. If you know what 'clandestine' means," he added, with unmasked self-satisfaction.

"Yeah, you're still an idiot," I said, and he snickered again.

Warily, I crossed my legs and watched him out of the corner of my eye. He was staring at the sky.

He brought in his legs and rested his chin on his knees. It was a strange position to see a guy in, but somehow, I felt myself relax along with him. "You know, I still have your books. All the ones I stole. I never got the chance to ask you, and you've probably outgrown them by now, but did you want them back?"

I didn't know exactly why, and I knew it hardly made sense, but the thought of getting those books back made me a little sad. I thought about it for a moment. "No. You can keep them. You should read more, anyway. Plus, they probably smell like you by now."

He sat up, and whatever calm had arisen melted away. "Oh, come on. That was lame."

I gave him a dirty look. "It was funny."

He laughed nervously. "Haha, yeah, no. Anyway. I guess I'll just let them decompose under my bed, then."

"Under your bed?"

"Yeah, under my bed! That's where all little kids hide their shit."

My books, under his bed? Yeah, I didn't want them back. I nodded slowly, pensive. "Hm. I've never heard you swear before."

He stretched his legs off the platform and looked back at me apologetically. "Oh. Sorry, I don't really pay attention—"

"No, no. I don't care. Er, I don't mind. If you swear. If anyone swears." He gave me a curious glance, and suddenly more words were trickling out my mouth, even though there wasn't anything else I wanted to say. "I was just saying, it's kinda like… I dunno…" I squirmed, regretting saying anything. For someone who reads so much, I'm unusually bad with words. "I think, well, you're a bit… different now, huh?"

He stared at me blankly, and for a second I was afraid he was going to rebuke me. But then he smiled. "Yeah, and you haven't changed a bit."

Blood rushed to my face. "Yeah, uh, you're just being weird now."

He shrugged. "You started it."

To be honest, looking back, he'd impacted my life more than he was probably aware. I was a shy, feeble thing back then, and he was the support my weak little heart needed. If it was other people that tore him and I apart, he was the one who gave me the courage to befriend those people. Without him, I think I'd be a lot different today. We really were close, once upon a time. Probably closer than I remember. Even so, I think tonight's the first time I've actively regretted the fact that we're not friends anymore.

"So, Len…" I looked up at the moon. "How are you?"

He was taken aback, and it showed on his face. I wasn't the type for small talk, after all.

Exactly, I wasn't the type for small talk. Which was how he could tell that I really did want to know how he'd been. And that's what caught him off guard.

Staring at the ground and letting out a long sigh, he responded to honesty with honesty. "I've been better, I guess. Things are okay, but it's just, you know. Stress."

"School?"

"Yeah, school." He paused. "Friends. Girlfriend."

I can't say I expected it, but now that he mentioned it, I guess it was to be expected. "You have a girlfriend?"

He chuckled. "You don't have to sound so surprised."

"I'm not surprised. I'm happy for you—well, not really. I feel sorry for her."

"So cold," he teased. Then, I suppose he couldn't suppress his curiosity, so he asked, "What about you? Boyfriend?"

Dude, what do you think? I wasn't exactly eager to confess that no, I didn't have one, but there would be no point in lying. "No, why would I?" I crossed my arms. "Boys are stupid."

He let out a legitimate laugh this time. "Thought so." Then he realized that might've been too harsh, so he relented. "Nah, I'm sure you'll find one. ...Someday."

"Go away."

He was probably really enjoying himself at this point. "You know, most published authors are male. So don't say boys are stupid. You could marry a writer and wow, free books—"

I hit him over the head with my book. (It was a hardcover.) He just laughed. "Okay, okay, don't kill me."

"If you don't want to die, then don't be an idiot," I quipped, but I was smiling. It was weird to admit, but it felt like our friendship never did undergo that period of stasis.

"We all die someday, so I'll be as much of an idiot as I want," Len said stubbornly. He turned to face me, about to say something, but he closed his mouth and scrutinized me like I was doing something wrong.

He didn't look away for a long while, and the wind felt colder than before. "What?"

"Cute. Your pajamas, I mean."

Well, that was embarrassing. I'd completely forgotten that I was wearing my favourite pajamas, so having Len, of all people, remind me heated my nerves. I told him so: "You're getting on my nerves."

He held his hands up. "Hey, I never said there was anything wrong with them. You can wear whatever you want, wherever, whenever. I don't care."

If he really didn't care, he wouldn't have said anything in the first place. I scowled and rubbed my arms.

He continued to stare at me, even through my silence. "Are you cold?"

Did I look cold? I may or may not have been shivering, but I only noticed when he pointed it out. "No."

"That's what they all say," he said as he unzipped his windbreaker and tossed it to me.

I threw it back at him quickly like it was covered in germs, which it was. "I don't need your smelly sweater."

He threw it back. "And I don't need it either." He tugged at his shirt, showing me that he had a reasonably thick cardigan underneath the windbreaker. "And if it's smelly, just wash it for me before you give it back."

I didn't touch it. "No."

"You can't do anything for yourself, can you?" And he tossed it over my shoulders himself, giving me a meaningful look that made me decide it wouldn't be worth it to shrug it off.

It always made me uncomfortable wearing other people's clothes. I never shared clothes with anyone, not my friends, not even my sister. I just didn't like being in debt. Especially not to Len. And his sweater smelled. Like boy. And boys are stupid.

"Len, I'm not a little kid…"

"You aren't. But you act like one." Jerk. "Like I said, you didn't change at all." Wow, what a jerk. "Just let me be nice, okay?"

"Yeah, nice, okay." I huffed. The thing felt heavy on my back. I'd hate to know what that girlfriend of his would think of this.

"Yeah, I'm being nice, that's it," Len affirmed, because he was a mind reader. "I'm being nice to you, because we're friends."

After all those years of distance, it took all of fifteen minutes for us to become 'friends' again. It might have been a stunning declaration, but really, if I were to be honest with myself, it felt like he was just stating the obvious. I mellowed out. "Yeah, okay." A moment of hesitation. "Thanks."

"No problem." He grinned. "It was getting hot with that on, actually."

"Why do you have so many layers, anyway?"

"I went skating," he said. "It's cold in the ice rink."

"Skating?"

"Yeah, I know it's weird. But Gumi—my girlfriend—does figure skating, so she always drags me to the rink to help her practice. Even when I've got stuff to do. She's pretty stubborn..." He trailed off, unsure of whether or not he said too much.

Not that his relationship issues were any of my business. "Figure skating?"

"Yeah, she's actually really good. You should come watch her practice, if you ever have time."

"Sure…"

"Don't worry, she's really nice. I think you'll like her. She'll probably like you, she has this weird obsession with blondes."

With a half-smile, I flicked my brows and said, "So that's why she likes you?"

He snorted. "It's more than that, obviously. But that was probably a factor, I guess."

I shrugged. "Okay then."

Unexpectedly, Len's arm reached out and I flinched. What was he doing...? Oh. He snatched my book and flashlight from my lap, and scanned the cover like he was actually interested. I held my fists at my sides, scowling. He opened the book, read a few lines, and his eyes widened.

"What is this even," he deadpanned, flipping through. "This isn't even English, what the hell?"

I get angry when people touch my books. I spend good money on those. "Give it back!"

"This makes no sense!" His tone was incredulous. "Half of these words are freaking twenty letters long, and then half of them are in like, French? What the hell?"

"You're getting fingerprints on it!" I tried to swipe it away from him, but he dodged. "Give it back!"

"Shut up," he snapped. "I'm trying to read."

"I thought you couldn't read it!"

"I'm _trying_ to read it."

"Stupid," I muttered, keeping a tight watch on him as he manhandled my precious ink-and-paper best friend.

He kept at it for a while, and I grew bored of staring at him, so I slacked on my duties and drifted off into lalaland. It was only after I heard him shift that I noticed he was…

"Are you _writing_ in it? What are you doing?! Don't write in it, holy shit Len!"

"Ahh, I got caught," he said, smiling guiltily. "Hm, well— WHAT THE SHIT IS THAT MY BUS? Why didn't you tell me, Rin?! Shit shit shit—"

He ran off at the speed of sound, or more like, the speed of a soccer player. I stared after him, nonplussed, yet impressed. He caught the bus, and it pulled away with a groan, leaving behind only silence and the chilly night.

I was left to my own devices again, but it wasn't like I could relax now. I sighed in fatigue and, I admitted, contentment. Sure, he was a boy, and sure, he was stupid, but he was cool. I guess.

The wind blew again, and I subconsciously pulled his sweater tighter around me.

And then I laughed. Not a chuckle or a giggle, but a full, healthy laugh.

He'd stolen my book.

He hadn't changed much, after all.

* * *

Len didn't go to my school, so when I got my book back, it was delivered by a guy in another class who claimed to be on his soccer team.

I opened it, and on the inside cover was a phone number.

* * *

Thanks for reading. :)


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